


Hollowed Bones (Filled with Iron)

by Dragondfly



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Civil War Team Iron Man, Extremis (Marvel), Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Possible Slow burn, Pro-Sokovia Accords, Team Cap Critical, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29894166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragondfly/pseuds/Dragondfly
Summary: Grief presses into his shoulders, shadowed fingers cold about his throat.Tony Stark aches, aches in a way he hasn't since Jarvis passed.And from the back of the church, something bitter twists in his mouth as he studies Rogers.Or: Tony Stark attends Aunt Peggy's funeral, and the world spins in a direction heavy with dissonance.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 90





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Civil War has left a bad taste in my mouth ever since I saw it initially. I won't go so far as to say this is a fix-it, but I felt Tony's lack of presence at Peggy's funeral was a ripe possibility for... something. Here is that something, even I don't know what this is yet.

When he gets the news, another sliver of warmth in his chest withers and dies.

(It’s hard to understand love when there are so few who have earned it are left in the world.)

The messenger offers an apology, voice gentle even through the distance provided by the phone. There’s a telltale hiss that tells ears all too familiar with technology that the call is coming from overseas, and weaves in and out of the very one-sided conversation like a cat.

“Again sir, I am so sorry,” the messenger continues. “I have already sent you the details of the funeral; they have been arranged by the family. However, there has been a request for your presence at the reading of the last will and testament. Will you be able to attend?”

Tony’s hearing whites out for a split second. 

(Last will and testament, gods, this is real.)

Taking Tony’s silence as a sign to continue, the messenger barrels forward, apology heavy in his tone. “The family understands if you cannot and wished to express their condolences regardless of your choice. They simply wanted me to ensure you were aware of the proceedings and pass along the request. As their admin, I felt it necessary to inform you of the testament reading in case it was missed in the details I sent you.”

Blinking his way around the stone that’s made itself at home on his tongue, Tony finally finds his words. “I will see what I can do. When exactly is the funeral and the will reading?” he asks softly, head dropping back to thump against the arm of the couch. Even through closed eyes, he can hear DUM-E and Butterfingers hover next to the shop couch, blinking and beeping in confusion and concern.

(Grief, sharp and icy, drips its way through Tony’s veins, coiling heavy in his chest. This new pain, the new grief makes itself at home with the old familiar pain that lives in every waking moment of Tony’s life. It settles in like an old friend, because it his. Grief, and pain, and agony are always there to keep him company.)

“The funeral is in two days, at two thirty in the afternoon, and the will and testament reading will follow immediately after those proceedings finish. Can I inform Mr. Sousa of your attendance?” the messenger asks gently.

Sighing, Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, fingers shaking so much his nails bite sharply into the soft skin. Biting back a hiss, he shakes out his hand and settles on clenching his fist tightly. “I’ll have to get back to you,” he admits. “Will I be able to reach you through this number?”

“Yes sir, I have been asked by Mr. Sousa to keep this line available for those who have been contacted so they can be in continuous contact if necessary,” the messenger replies, no note of judgement in his tone, and for that, Tony remains grateful. “If there’s anything else?” the messenger trails off, leaving the question hanging.

“No, no, that’ll be all. Thank you for calling. Have a good day,” Tony replies, disconnection only when the messenger offers the customary good day in response. Dropping the phone to his chest, Tony opens his eyes to see the bots hovering. DUM-E hesitantly shifts back and forth for a long moment, before finally dropping the blanket in its claws onto Tony’s chest. The bot chirps in question.

“Thanks buddy,” is all that Tony can offer tiredly.

(A fresh roll of grief shudders down his spine.)

Butterfingers beeps sympathetically and bobs its scope up and down.

“FRI?” 

“Yes boss?” the young AI responds immediately, having been present throughout Tony’s phone call. There is something hesitant in the young voice.

“Clear my schedule for the next few days. I have a funeral to go to.”

“Yes boss,” FRIDAY agrees immediately, even as segments of code begin whirling at high speed. “Shall I inform Ms. Potts?”

“No, I can manage that,” Tony answers. But he doesn’t move to pick up his phone, nor does he lift himself from the couch.

Instead, he scrubs a hand down his face.

_(Oh Aunt Peggy. I’m so sorry.)_


	2. Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exposition.

He was seven the first time he had to craft a mask.

(Rough, pasted together with glue and held in place with small, too small, grubby hands, but it’s just enough to hide the young fear as it blooms behind watchful eyes.)

It’s the second time Howard Stark has raised his voice, the swift surge of alcohol heavy in those booze addled limbs, but this time, Tony knows better than to show fear. Knows it like he knows the cool press of the wood of his father’s study floor against a cheek, knows it like he knows the scent of cigar smoke and scotch.

There’s a power in knowing, and helplessness in turn.

He learns quick, a genius even then, teaches himself how to cobble together a façade in order to protect himself.

He never stopped learning.

(How many layers are there to Tony Stark that need to be peeled away before the real one is found?)

( _It’s all about appearances Anthony_ , Maria would whisper, a careful adjustment of the small tie about his neck before they stepped outside the car, a sad broken tone making a mockery of her once bright light. _Remember that_.)

Breathing carefully, Tony shakes off the talons of memory.

They have no use here, not those poisoned creatures born and bred in fear and pain. It’s a dangerous thing for Tony to let them out, so he none to gently cages them back where they belong, buried deep in his chest. 

Sliding into one of the many masks of Tony Stark is as seamless as the handstitched, multi-thousand-dollar suit draped around his shoulders. The polished shoes are relatively clean despite the overcast London weather, and the set of cufflinks in the shape of tiny sword and shield feel heavier than they ought.

(Brand new eleven-year-old eyes light up like beacons when Tony unwraps the gift, fingers gentle as they touch the cufflinks. _I love them_ , he whispers, gazing up at Peggy, his Aunt in every sense but blood. She smiles at him softly, something proud in her gaze.)

The intangible armour is completed by a set of sunglasses so dark, it’s impossible to see his eyes through, yet another barrier between him and the world. 

Quietly, Tony slips into the back of the church. The choir covers the sound of his entrance, and only the usher just inside the doorway catches sight of him. Recognition flits across the usher’s face and the old man only offers Tony a small nod. Tony returns it, and cants off to the side, bones buzzing with too much to sit. Instead, he leans into the shadow of one of the church’s many pillars, settling against the cold marble as the opening hymn trails into silence.

As the pastor begins speaking, Tony’s gaze latches onto the coffin at the front of the church, and it’s nearly his undoing.

One of the last members of his family, gone. After Howard and Maria, after Jarvis, Aunt Peggy had been the only one left from his youth. And while visits with her had dwindled as they both age, as time and career tore Tony away, Afghanistan driving a wedge into Tony’s very soul, he always carried love for the woman who raised him as much, if not more, than Maria.

Grief presses into his shoulders, shadowed fingers cold about his throat.

Tony Stark aches, aches in a way he hasn't since Jarvis passed.

Aches in a way that tastes of blood and sand, of hopelessness, this latest loss ripping through him.

Aches to the point that he finds himself missing the arc reactor and the gaping hole it had ripped into his chest. He's just so tired.

And from the back of the church, something bitter twists in his mouth as he studies the back of Rogers head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am taking a few liberties with Tony's background, and will continue to lean into them. This chapter was more for me to establish where in CW this branches from, and will unfold as follows. Assume up until this point that everything in CW has been canon. Full disclosure, I'm still working on figuring out what I'm doing with this.


	3. Dread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins to unspool.

The funeral is arduous.

It feels wrong, a pastel mockery of Peggy’s life, like they had tried to summarize who she was in the broadest of strokes.

But Tony can’t begrudge the family, not when he sees the defeated slump in Mr. Sousa’s shoulders, the way the shake visibly even from across the expanse of the church. Not when Peggy’s niece leans heavily into her uncle’s shoulder, not when that bubble of grief surrounding Peggy’s relatives presents itself in an empty row of pews between them and the remainder of the mourners. While Tony himself does not quite understand the ceremonies people go through when processing death –

(how could he, the funerals of Maria and Howard Stark brought to fruition by Obediah Stane, a gratuitous display of wealth as the weapons community mourned the loss of their death dealer, Obi flouncing Tony in front of the warmongers as the harbinger they could rely on next, false grief another mask settled on his skin)

\- he recognizes others find comfort in them. 

(and if Tony Stark’s only understanding of processing grief was drinking alcohol so potent it _burns_ on the roof of his college dorm, Rhodey ever faithful against his side, watching the stars spin as somewhere halfway across the world, Jarvis was lowered into the ground, well, it almost makes sense)

But that bitterness, cold ash and dirt, lingers. As Rogers blond head tilts in focus as the sermon is delivered, as Wilson sits stoically at his side, that bitter taste takes root. It takes root and flourishes because that man has less right to be here than Aunt Peggy’s nurse from her final days.

(Howard had always waxed poetic about the righteous Captain American, a hero worship that twisted the further into the bottle the elder Stark had fallen, but Aunt Peggy had maintained a cordial distance from the need to praise a man long trapped in the ice. Even as a boy, sat in one of the cozy armchairs next to the fire, listening intently to Aunt Peggy’s stories, Tony had seen nothing but a fond affection in her eyes when Steve Rogers was mentioned. And when he had gotten older and watched Peggy slowly fall in love with a man who had also been to war, that’s when Tony had started to piece together that Howard’s obsession with Captain America had been just that – obsession.) 

“And now, I would like to invite Sharon Carter to come up and say a few words,” the pastor continues, the name dragging Tony back to the present. Realizing his face had unconsciously twisted into a grimace, he twitches it carefully neutral.

As the blonde woman steps carefully up to the podium, the genius mind Tony had been saddled with at birth instantly flips through a set of memories from the D.C fiasco and the fall of SHIELD; more accurately, he remembers her file being one of the hundreds Romanov had dumped onto the internet in the ill-fated attempt to burn HYDRA out. Superimposed with the image is a different memory, one from twenty years prior, of a wide-eyed pre-teen blinking at him from Aunt Peggy’s side.

Tony had only met Sharon that one time, but Aunt Peggy had gone out of her way to make sure her semi-adopted son had at least known her biological family.

So, the image from that one afternoon had been forever tainted by the secrets that had come to light as SHIELD had imploded.

(The radio silence Tony had gotten from those involved in the dismantling of SHIELD at the hands of Rogers tastes of unripen lemon and distrust.)

While HYDRA had been forced into public perception, countless genuine agents and resources had been burned. Sharon had been safe, as an agent working out the main hub, her identity hadn’t put her at risk. But so many others, good agents and good people, had had their anonymity, their safety, ripped away by the Black Widow in a series of a few keystrokes.

(And too many of them had ended up losing their lives.)

“I asked her once how she manage to master diplomacy and espionage in a time when no one wanted to see a woman succeed at either,” Sharon says, delivering her speech like a sermon.

(Something begins to curl in Tony’s stomach. Something akin to dread.)

“And she said compromise where you can. But where you can’t, don’t. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right, even if the whole world is telling you to move, it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye and say no. You move.”

(That dread unspools and respools, heavier. Thick.)

Tony has half a mind to walk out of the church then and there. Listening to the youngest Carter harp on about a way of thinking that has no bearing on the twenty-first century, so disgustingly aware that Rogers is going to lap it up like a self-indulgent cat, rips away at some of the last shreds of patience Tony has left. After all these years working with… no, working alongside Rogers, never with. Hindsight has shown that Captain America had never once worked with Iron Man or Tony Stark. Rather, Rogers had grudgingly allowed both to work next to him. 

After all these years working adjacent to Rogers, Tony has lost all of the hero worship foisted onto him by his father, and nearly all of the toleration he has left for Steve.

(It feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, and all Tony needs to do now is step off.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more I think about CW and Rogers, the more that entire arc disgusts me.
> 
> There are a few lines of dialogue taken directly from the film. Which means I don't even have to do much work in order to demonize Sharon.


End file.
